Deja Vu
by Pathetic Fallacy
Summary: Stuff happens to House and co. that can't have happened before, but has. Over and over. Parody of the dangerous and repetitive soap operaish state of the show and the FF community at present. Chapter 5 is up.
1. Morning

_This is a vague protest I wrote without really thinking about it, about the overload of angst and cliché in the House section of FF. Then again, I suppose the show's turning into a soap opera, so – whatever._

_If you squint, this makes sense. Bear with me. It does actually go somewhere, because I've written the entire plan and quite a few of the chapters. Oh, yeah, the Beta's finally figured out what those 'add chapter' buttons do._

_Oh, yeah, there's a few references to fics in here. Really, really obscure references. Don't worry about it, it's just me being a twit, but full marks if you see any of 'em._

_I don't accept responsibility for people thinking I own House because I haven't denied it here and stalking me._

* * *

House woke up with an ache not only in his leg, but in his head. For a moment, he knew this morning had happened before. He shook his head, rubbed his forehead viciously, and tried to remember the exact logistics of déjà vu. It had something to do with two – thingies – that did something simultaneously... god, he was tired. It didn't help much that he'd only gotten to bed roughly two hours ago, and that much sleep was worse than none at all. That was why his head hurt, and why his leg felt like someone had been jumping on it. It'd go away once he was more awake.

The headache, however, persisted, and even intensified when he took a few Vicodin to chase away the perpetual ache in his leg. It'd go away soon. Feeling thoroughly miserable, he headed off for work in a bad mood.

As he went, glowering at a small child as he got into his car, he could have sworn the headache was getting stronger.

* * *

_Yeah, well, um, three paragraphs then. I'll post the next chapter soonish._


	2. Kitten

_Hello. Well, I got four reviews, and they were chunky and positive, and there was much rejoicing on my part, and that's why I've posted the next chapter. (That's not true. I'd be posting this if the only people who had access to it were - like- polar bears, so, yeah.) _

Quick note. I write things all in one go. I wrote this all in one go and was going to post it as such, but it'd get shoved out of the top fingy in about four hours by the angst and I'd be sad. So it's in chapters, about ten or fifteen (though no promises). They flow together a lot because I suck, so it's best to read the last part of the chapter before when you start the first part of - oh, you'll figure it out.

* * *

It was nice to be out on the road with a prettier car than anyone else's, and despite his mood House felt a trace of good humour returning. As it did, the headache faded. About time, he thought vaguely, outrunning a four-wheel drive on the highway. 

He even managed to make it through the clinic without Cuddy jumping on him and shouting at him about the clinic, and to his office without Wilson tracking him down to lecture him about – well, whatever it was that he was doing immoral.

He flopped at his desk and amused himself with bouncing his ball against the glass wall and irritating Foreman, who appeared to be trying to do some paperwork before work started. Paperwork. It'd been a while since House saw any of that being actually worked on. Usually it just got carried around and looked at now and again.

What the hell did you _do _to paperwork, anyway?

Ah, well, it didn't matter. The nagging headache had faded into nothingness and nothing _dramatic _was happening. Or annoying, or depressing, or disturbing. Weird day.

"House?"

Cameron was at the door and she was holding a box. House eyed it warily.

"What?"

"Don't be angry."

"I've never ever liked anything anyone said after saying that," House warned her. She crossed the floor despite his glowering, and dropped the box on his desk. It meowed. There was a sudden stab of pain right behind his eyes and he had a sudden foreboding that this had happened before. Again. But unlike déjà vu, this time he _knew _what was coming next. That was –

" – a kitten," Cameron concluded. She'd apparently been talking all this time. Fancy that. Wait a minute.

"What, here? What do you want me to do with it?" he demanded. She opened the box.

"The kitten's cuteness is _not _going to win me ov- aww," he ended, somewhat inarticulately, as a tiny ball of ginger fluff with wide blue eyes was revealed in the bottom of the box. Cameron beamed at him.

"Isn't he sweet? I got him to raise morale here."

"Ooochy bookie snookums," House crooned to the kitten, inserting a finger into the box. The kitten bit it savagely, seeming to pull House out of some kind of trance. He shook his head violently as the headache crept back.

"What the hell?" he demanded. "Why was I just talking like that?" Cameron looked somewhat defeated.

"I thought the kitten's cuteness might have won a way through your tough exterior to the soft-hearted man that's really under-"

"_What _have you been smoking, and why didn't you share it with me?" House demanded, sucking on his bleeding finger and giving Cameron a baleful look. She stammered a bit, before he rose to his feet and limped out of the office. His headache faded as he left Cameron and the kitten behind.

"Geez," he muttered, flopping down into the chair near Foreman. The neurologist looked up at him over the file, and House peered at it.

"What're you doing?"

"Paperwork."

"Oh."

There was a long silence in the room.

"... Anyway, nice talking to you," House said uneasily. "I have to – go." He moved out of the room, feeling somewhat awkward. Behind him, Foreman rolled his eyes and muttered something about being ignored and neglected that would have made no sense even if House had heard it.

His headache was back.


	3. Divorce

_I love reviews. But just so's you know, I've already written most of this, so suggestions for later chapters will most likely be ignored. Not really ignored, I'll freak out about them for a while, but they won't have much effect on the story because I'm lazy. Anyway.  
_

_

* * *

_

He settled in the Oncology Lounge. They had big televisions, and besides, he at least knew how to talk to Wilson without making stupid jokes about race. Odd, that. He couldn't remember ever actually talking to Foreman. Well, he'd obviously talked to him, at the job interview and that, but...

He made a mental note to find out how many sick days Foreman had taken.

"Who're you avoiding now?" Wilson sounded amused and somewhatresigned. House's head twinged, and he blinked before glancing around at the oncologist.

"Cameron," House said shortly. "And Foreman, for that matter. And that kitten."

Wilson flopped on the couch next to him. "Something tells me I don't want to know."

"Yeah, well, neither did I. So. What's up?"

"Not much. Bit of paperwork to do, few new patients. New lab coat. Look." He waved his sleeve at House, who looked disinterested. "Oh, and Julie divorced me."

Now _that _had hurt. House rubbed his forehead vehemently as the aftermath of a blinding stab of pain lingered, blurring his vision slightly.

"Oh. Um. Sorry," he managed. Wilson shrugged.

"Win some, lose some."

"You're taking this well."

"Well, I've been divorced – what – a hundred times?"

"Three."

"Really? Geez," Wilson said blankly. "Three?'

"Yeah. You want to talk about it?"

"Not really much left to say," Wilson replied. "Julie's gone, I got to keep the house which was good, and she didn't even take the dog."

"Well. Okay," House said vaguely, closing his eyes and willing his headache to go away.

"Are you alright?" Wilson queried. House winced as the pain cranked itself up a notch.

"Yes. Fine. Just – déjà vu, I think."

"Oh."

House felt a warning twinge in his head as the silence fell in the room again. Wilson was looking at him funny.

"Anyway, I have a kitten to look after," he said hurriedly, before standing and backing out of the oncology lounge. Wilson looked vaguely disappointed, and House made a mental note to avoid him for the next few hours.

Something was going on.

* * *

_Wilson's in it again later. You didn't really think I'd just leave it there, did you?_


	4. Relative

_I know I'm a terrible person. I know everyone who read this has died of old age by now. But here's the next chapter. I went through most of them and changed them a little. _

_And that's why I haven't updated this in weeks, I've been making the one half of it _better_. That's right. Better._

* * *

House made his way to the clinic of his own power. This actually seemed to soothe the ache in his skull for a while, and he was feeling almost chirpy as he headed into an empty exam room to spend some time playing games. The minute he flicked on his PlayStation Portable, however, placed his Nike shoes on the bench and pulled out his Apple iPod, it was back.

"Damnit," he muttered irritably, putting the things away and staring at the wall for a while. That seemed to help a little, but not much – after brief consideration, he stopped twirling his cane.

"Are you Doctor House?"

There was a girl at the door, looking hesitant but determined.

"I'm not going to like you," House informed her. He glanced around and met a pair of blue eyes that seemed vaguely familiar.

"Oh, God, get away from me," he said mournfully. The girl stepped timidly into the room, sitting on the edge of the exam table and continuing to watch him.

"You _are_ Doctor House. Doctor Cuddy said you had a cane and blue eyes."

"Yes, okay," he muttered,trying not to look at her.

"Um. Do you remember a woman called Scarlet?"

"Sort of. Why?" he queried suspiciously, aware that he wasn't going to like her reply.

"She's my mother. And you're my father."

That time, sparks exploded in front of his eyes and it was a few minutes before he regained his vision. That had come quite close to matching the pain in his leg those few days before the operation, he mused, giving the girl a sharp look as she went to speak again.

"Go away. Don't – say – anything else," he ordered. Her eyes filled with tears. He cursed things, silently.

"But – but – I've come so far to find you," she sniffed. "I've fought so much to be with you. Are you just going to throw me away?"

"Since when do ten year olds speak like that?" House demanded irritably. "Shoo. You make my head hurt."

"But my mother's dead," she said beseechingly. "I don't have anywhere to go."

"What do you want me to do about it?" House demanded. She pulled out a sheaf of papers and a pen. House recognized the seal of an adoption agency at the top.

He moved quite fast for a man with a cane.


	5. Cameron

House finally found himself, after a few minutes of fleeing the ten year old Housette, on the fourth floor of the building in a hallway he'd never seen before. He flopped into a chair, breathing hard, and gave the wall a baleful look.

Of course it was right then that Cameron turned up.

House hissed to himself.

"Thank God I found you!" she gasped, attempting to squeeze onto his chair next to him until he pushed her off with his cane. She settled for sitting on the ground, one arm looped around his leg. He surreptitiously tried to pry her off by using his cane as a lever, but she clung on with the absent-minded resolution of a limpet.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded irritably. She peered up at him with tear-filled eyes that seemed larger than her face all of a sudden.

"I couldn't find you! I thought you were dead!"

House stared at her. She sniffed.

"How – the hell – did you get 'House is dead' from 'House isn't in my line of sight'?"

She sniffed again, and abruptly burst into tears, her wailing echoing up and down the corridor. House flinched and swore under his breath. Cameron clung to his leg, steadily soaking the fabric a darker colour with tears.

"I'm miserable and alone! I slept with Chase by accident but I still love you and you don't love me back! My husband died and so'd my baby! I've had a tragic past! My gerbil died this morning!"

House pried Cameron off with some difficulty, before lurching off down the corridor. But desperation lent Cameron swiftness and she caught up with him, pushing him bodily to the wall of the corridor and clinging onto him.

"And nobody loves me," she sniveled.

"Plenty of people love you," House said cautiously. His cane arm was trapped at his side and she had quite a lot of strength for someone so – so short and skinny and girly - the wiry, desperate strength he expected from Cuddy. Though Cuddy would never do this.

He hoped so, anyway.

"Lots of people. Like Chase," he continued, attempting a consoling, wheedling tone that would get her the hell off him for a minute so he could make his escape.

"Do you love me?" she demanded, fists tightening around his shoulders. His head continued to pound, and he swayed on his feet. He very seriously considered saying 'yes', if only to get her the hell away from him. But then she'd kiss him or something, and he'd be disturbed for weeks. Honestly. If only young, attractive women had stalked him this desperately when he'd been twenty six rather than forty six.

"No."

"Denial is the first sign of acceptance!" Cameron cried delightedly, before capering off down the hall. House sagged to the floor and put his head in his hands.

This was turning out to be a long day.


	6. Chase

Hoping that Cameron had floated off somewhere else, and wasn't lurking in wait for him around some corner waiting for him to realize that he really did love her wildly and passionately (he had to suppress a shudder at this point of the thought process – Cameron stalking him seemed disturbingly possible today) House called the elevator. As the doors slid open, he lifted his cane like a sword, but only Chase was in it. He sighed, somewhat relieved, before stepping through the doors.

"Morning," he muttered to Chase, too irritated to even think of a snarky comment to make about Vegemite or wombats. Chase looked mildly surprised by that.

"You look like hell."

House flinched, and wished vehemently that Chase would put on an American accent once in a while. Or just stop looking so damned much like one of those lifesaver guys they had down there because everyone went to the beach every day instead of working or something.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, attempting to put the conversation to an end. But Chase seemed determined to show off his accent.

"Is anything wrong? Did Cameron jump you again? I wish she'd jump me. Nice weather we've been having lately. I have a new shampoo. Isn't my hair pretty? Did you know that Sydney isn't actually the capital of Australia, it's Canberra, and -"

"Shut up!" House hissed irritably. Chase looked bewildered. "Stop talking about your hair."

"But I thought you liked me!"

"God, this is _worse _than Cameron," House muttered desperately, jabbing wildly at the floor button with his cane. Damn this thing was slow. He'd have to shout at the janitor at some point.

"You're always saying I'm pretty and making ambiguous comments about stuff," Chase said earnestly. He was inching closer. House attacked the button with renewed desperation.

"Get away from me."

Chase's eyes flicked to the cane House was holding up as a shield, and the expression of someone who'd thought of a brilliant new sexual joke swam onto his face. While he paused, putting on the puppy-dog concentration face, House clapped a hand over his mouth. He had a feeling that jokes about his cane weren't going to be good for his head.

"Mmmnf, mnf mnf – mnf!" Chase spluttered, before biting House's hand. Hard. The diagnostician yelped, shaking the hand in the air and giving the biter a baleful look.

"That _hurt_."

"I'm sorry," Chase said breathlessly, catching the hand in his.

It was a good thing for Chase that the doors opened then, because House was rapidly becoming a desperate man. And he wielded a big stick.

* * *

_Get your minds out of the gutter._


End file.
